I took the bucket, filled it up with water, then dumped it on Jerry’s head.
“Hey, C’mon!” he said.
“Let’s dance!” came a voice from inside the side door to the house.
“I don’t LIKE vegetables!” said another voice through the window.
“Your name is Mud!” Jerry said.
Then a wild hippopotamus ran through the yard. It was hot pink, with purple and white poke-a-dots all over.
“Is that a hippopotamus?” I asked Jerry.
“Don’t change the subject!” Jerry shouted.
“I like animals, but this is ridiculous,” I said.
“Why did you dump water on my head?” Jerry asked.
“Why do birds suddenly appear—every time— you draw near?” I sang to the tune of the Carpenters’ song.
“Why do I put up with you?” Jerry huffed.
“Help! You know, I need somebody. Help! Not just anybody. Help! You know, I need someone. Heeeelp!” I sang to the Beatles tune.
“What are you getting at?” cried Jerry.
“I’m looking at the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways,” I sang, to the Michael Jackson tune.
“This is pointless,” said Jerry. “I can’t think straight.”
“Might as well jump! Go ahead, jump!” I sang to the Van Halen song.
“You make no sense,” Jerry said.
“I have no sense,” I said.
“Here we are, both of us friends,” Jerry sang.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” I said.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 